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Vera Kilgore Heilig: Her Poetry Lives (2017) H. Morris Williams, Marie Law Haire




            We’ll Be Jolly Friends Forevermore




            I play game after game of hide and seek.

            My playmate, his gaunt features hidden
            By his cowl,

            Is always “It.”
            He shuts his eyes and counts:

            “Five, ten, fifteen—”
            In our first games I found a place

            to hide

            Before he reached one hundred,
            But later on I needed the reprieve

            of “Bushel of wheat, bushed of rye,
            All that aint hid holler T”

            And now I find that having hollered “F’

            I barely hide myself before he calls
            “Bushel of wheat, bushel of clover,

            Them that aint hid can’t hide over.”
            Someday, perhaps it will be soon,

            when he calls “Cornin’, ready or not,”

            He’ll find me still unhidden.
            Then he will beat me to the base

            And pat me out.
            That last game will be his.




























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